"That means more for Max than it would for most people."
"He told me that he could not have afforded to keep up the Schloss without your help, but aside from the expenses of the house he had plenty, plenty."
"And Hilda?"
"Oh, the Baroness is a millionaire. Her aunt in Heidelberg died more than a year ago and left her all her fortune. Max never got a pfennig of it though, even in a Christmas-gift."
There flashed across Friedrich's mental view his cabin, differing in no respect from those of the "mountain whites," his neighbors. Then a picture of a little figure with white neck and arms shining through the filmy blackness of her gown, shrinking into an arm-chair, and saying, "I always had enough for my needs, even when——"
"Was he kind to her?"
"Kind? I tell you he loved her with the most unselfish devotion. It was his dearest wish to live a life so correct that she might be proud of him. You couldn't expect more than that, could you?"
"Not from Maximilian," admitted von Rittenheim. "Perhaps the very intensity of his love may have made him exacting towards her?"
"My dear fellow, she paid no more attention to him and his wishes than if he were the lowest servant on the estate. She had a constant flock of men hanging about, with whom she flirted desperately, entirely regardless of Max's feelings. I must say he bore it like an angel! Why, if my wife—well, never mind, I haven't one yet. She made herself conspicuous with Moller—Colonel Moller, you know, before von Hatfeldt killed himself on her account."
"The Graf's son?" Friedrich was startled.